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wmmsm 5$ staffs 

JIm Baling, Shelbia Chandler, 
J Haxris, Judy lake, Hobin MoVilliams, 
l@Tin Sismotm, John Stobetrt 

51© get a suhmisBioa printed la this iaeu©, 

four of th@ s@v©23i p©opl© o» "^6 staff had to 
¥ote for aoosptaaoe, For the award wisansrs, 
only John Stobaarb is respoissible. 


iiO to Sh@lbia 

liO to Kevin Dimpss^ 

110 to Jersey Eeir 


Jfemiscripts or cover 
desi^s for WOHDE&TIE $6 

mist b© embmitted to 
John Stobart in room 
C-1069 byg 

APHIL 18, 1986 

110 to Shelbia 
110 to Ptisnj*' 





soi^rri^t® as?® retained by :| 

aathor^j and material may not I 

ireprintad without their :i^ 

5@saission, ■ 



s. Chandler 

33onna Shlbevioh 

Jim Behling 

Jwly Belfiaid 
Shalbia Chandler 
Taraafti 'I'ollmer 
Kevin )>incan 
Judy B.>lfield 
Boniia BMbovioh 
Shelbia Chandler 
W. A. K>?thle 
Bonna Shibovioh 
Jim Behlin^ 
C. J. Prusik 
Jim B«ihlin£ 
Shelbia Chandler 
Kevin Duncan 
Taomii Vollmor 
Judy Belfiold 
Jim Behlin^ 
Judy Belfield 

HJ&bl© bf "Contents, contiimod 

Sinoe You*¥9 Been Avay^ 18 

'iThe Past - Crashes. .»•••«••«. .18 

Basher.,.; • , ».ld 

Billooard Bully. *.»««««. •..••«......•.•« lo 

A Termination^ »««,.. 19 

Mcar « «...«•«.«««...•«..*...•«.•••.«••.••« ^y 

Lately In Life If 

Starting Over Is Never Easy. ............ 19 

Nets • .1^ 

Assets. . . « .20 

I Abi A Bomb 20 

Some People Are Best Left Alone 20 

Patience: Who Needs It 20 

a!hero Are Silent 20 

Succulent Hoses. •.•.....•» ....(■•.,«21 

For Susan 21 

Drug Pushers • ....21 

Cultural Confusion. 21 

HomeoominiT • 22 

Never Mind 25 

Soft Touoh 1 

The Napoleonic Code 23 

On The Demise of Folly... 23 



Shelbia Ghmidler 
Jim Behliiag 
Judy Belfield 
C« J. Pruelk 
3bvt^- IC@ir 
Kevin Duncan 
Jim B0hlia« 
Kevin Dimcaa 
Ksvin Duncan 
Jerry K®ir 
Jerry Keir 
Shslbia Chandler 
Judy Belfi©ld 
Jarry Keir 
PeuriS^ Sartoii^i''' 
Jai^y K©ir 

B. P* Boss 
W. A. Kahl© 

Km^in" Buiicsaa ^ 

Je^ry E«i2^ 
Kevin 25im©an '-^ 
J\i&:j Bfclfield 
Jaaaes Haskowski 
Kt^-is Buncan • 
"^S£!mi Vollj&er 
Shsibia QhM^ler 
Judy Belfield 
Jerxy K©i£ -^ • ^ 
Bob Crms :■■ ■'■ 
Jaay Belfield 
Jerry E@ir 
K&vln Duncan 
Jerry Keir 
Judy Beli'ield 
Esvin 3>2noan 
V. A. KaM© 
Sh©lbia Chai3dl©r 
¥. A. Eaiile 
Jim Bshlia^ 
w. A. :gahl© 
Shelbia Chai2dl©r 
Jim Beklin^ 
Sh^lbia Chandler 
¥, A» Eahl® 
Jiia Beiaint 
Shelbia Clmndler 
¥* A. E^la 
Judy Bslfield 
Shslbia Chandler 
Judy Belfield - 
Jim BahliD^ 
K©Tin L'^aaoan'. 
Jaaea Easkowski 
ShelMa ^Olmndler 
Dorma SMboTich 
Judy B©lfield 
ShfePoia Chandler 
Shelbia Chandler 
W. A, Kahle 
James Haskovski 


Dear Teaohipoo..... « 1 

Wheelchair Wheelie. ...,..,..♦.„ 1 • 

Liiaita ....,«c *! : 

She Said, "Be % Friend". a o 1 

SohaikoTsky's Lake. ,,*«»..« 2 ^^^'■■■'■ 

Monday <s Fashion Show 2 

Shades Of P®ta2.s Five. ..**>..««..,*.... 2 
E^aeffi'b®rii:s^«».9,..»*«,9»*'«v«..«o* ..e».«s 2 ov -- 
Mourning Grace. ,,.««..•,.,.. o .«.,.,.».* « 2 • ^^ •^'s-'. '■'^i'' 

A Shadowles® Dreasa«, <,,,,..,...■.,,' « 2 ir^n^.A'h 

Grounded« ,.••»..««,«.«*««»«...«••..•.«.« 2 

The Dreamer. . . * • 3 '■■ "^^^ '■'. 

Bread With Circua«.,..e 3 .^'•*v^-i-^^;- 

ShrJjffip Sauce^ ^ ,.. * .9«. i » i .'•.«.«. ^ . s..*'. « 3 

Beware of Strsm^ere Bearlio^ Qixiohe*.,.. 3 - - 

Kioeland* «.«.«« ^« ^ .«« * « *«.»«««*.««<».•. . S 

Wealth. .V ««««««.,«*«««.<.*». 5 --.n .;j^-:': "t 

Four Hors©isen. *,»«««.«.« e **».«•... S "7-' ■• ''••'f- 

Stas Seeker. «..««.,,««««,......,.« 5 '• --^ '--■ 

Soimds Like Pearls^ .. *«^ ««.».,««*,*,.., 5 '^ ^■' ^-"^ 
Qaeen Mother, ,«»«.,..*. ^ ««.« o »««»..**. . 6 

Dee, 25, 198i|..«, ,,v«. «....«,.,... 6 -f^s^ ^^i 

Just The Other Year. ,«#«**,«*«« ^ ..**.. . 6 „ *-/■>'■• -f.:;'^' • 
Passing: Times.,, e6«.,.«,«.e«e«,s.«,,»9.a 6 .Ixfo-rv j.>' 
M®taiiiorphos©e ,*.««..«. .«8> ¥,«.■.«.« ^ .«« « 6 • ■ .#i'v. ^ :: ^.a., 
A Windy LVening, * .,« * »,«»*««*««««.**«» . 6 

Gray. .....«6.«.sec,.. «9«» « * ««.««« a 8 ?:«.. ^rri; .>; 

Sun/^on. .............. .*-c •.««««...,,,., 8 , T. :■ -^f;- 

Th©' .Full Mbon . Site Gloating* ««. ^ .«,..*,» 9 •■£•.••>.-•■': 
Bark Side«....,«*,«**s.«,*«. w.«.««...««» 9 /..v, .:^.--v\ 

Plaueteid© Obligation©. ««.«« ««,,»««..«, 9 
The Universe of Ayler aad L^^ser* . « * , « . 9 
Old a?@ddy Beaaes and 0-Uier Attashm@nts«.ll 
Safety In &jah©rs,» »««*«.« *.»«..,*»»,« .11 
Humphrey th© ¥hal@, * « « e « * « » * « e * * « . «> * .'. .11 
Boat*. * .....,..*.....*.*.«.»* .«,.,*. ..*.«.* .11 

Sub Bosa.. .....,*««.«..»,.« e *«**.«««.,.« ,lt •'■•'"• 

Witnesses...^.. «„»«»«. e«es6«««*«.«-««»»»»12 -. ; :•.'^r-ll 
Picturesque. ««« * ««*««.*.«.««*«*« ««.»*«* 12 ■■■ ', .^_ q,-:.,? i. 
In Susmer, ....... «e«9«ae «**«««*. 9.*.... 12 , ^vi; ^^;v.■■-. 

Last feaneg^esssion. » . .' « « « « * « « . * * ««,.... 12 ..ui;;.;. .:• •■ 

A Viiit,.....*..*.*.««..*...».««o,.....13' 'J..> •:-/.' 

I First Sw Iou*..«^.«.... ..««.., *....a3 ;.:fv^ uoi 

That . Old Sweet S©n^« ,,*.,*«.*« ^ «,«....« 13 • •'■■ .•'" c^o 

fake % Body If You Want. ....,..«* o ... .13 

H©¥*,e.,...,.-«o. «*.«.*....,«..«.. *..*.,ai|-,,::-'^ ... : 

A Roee Arose. ..,«.«..,...,.. 6.„o .'«.... .iii, ,^vl:.:ci •.. ;- 

Throu^ The Crowds . ^ «.,....« ^ ».«...... ,11^ ^ ;■••':.:.. ."^^ ■ ..i " 

Dusty Lov® Affaira.«*.»,,,«»«,«,'o,..,,ill4: . .;j:,-4:;- i.-o 
Overripe* ...e..e».«.9*«*«««*»8«»»o»^***lij._ .....'■; h'.-; ^ -- 

On A Quiet snd Sticky Suamer M^ta*.,.15- '■. j'ij-v.-;-, .,, 
Only A Gas©, ,«,,,*...,«.«.» ,,«««.**.,. ,1^ -a" v-Is^i' " . 
Comfort and Joy «<,c«..*««e «««......««..« IS -:...vr"x %-'. 

¥h@n You Come To M®««., ......*«*«,....,.. 15 '..-.:.'■/•■ ' ■■■. 

Babies, .........»..,,.,....,. .15 ' ""' 

Sino© You've Been Gone.,...,,,. *.».,,« 6.16 

Every Day One Finds M@ Alon©..,.,. 1^ 

Furtive. ,.«,.,*.....,.....»......,... .16 

Ee jection, .,..«**, .16 

I Stood Loni: When lou L®ft Me... l? 

Last Chance. , 1? 

Breakdovm , l8 

(continued on inside front cover) 

Shelbia Chandler 


You've really 2:0 1 your nerve 
Giving me a failing grade 
You know I'm someone special 
I should have had it made. 

I'm not your average student 
And tb-ough I didn't do my work 
You really should have passed me 
I'm not no stupid jerk. 

I know my words and numbers , , ., 
Though I didn't come to class 
There's more to life than leamin' 
And on looks alone I pass, i . ^ 

I can make it worth your while. 
Take my body, I've got time. 
See an A will get me wheels 
While an P aint worth a dime. . 

K^ parents, Man, '11 kill me 
You've got to change my mark 
We could go into your office 
And make out in the dark. 

Give me a chance to show you 
That I learn some lessons well. 
You can't accept my offer? 
Then, you bastard, go to hell. 

' ' Judy Belfield 


Evening squeezes the day 
into a thin lilac band, 
dissolves , slowly, 
to final scenes 
unglorious, like sunsets 
yet far more dramatic 
for their finality: 
the lastness of hope — 

I am forever standing 

on this lip of fading li^t 

a hair' s breadth 

on this side of promise — 

the other 

a gullet of darkness 

60 eager to swallow 

and I wonder, continually, 

whether to plan for sunrise 

41 .; . v 

Jim Behling 


He spun around and said, "Hello." 
A smile spread, his face aglow. 
Mixing with pedestrians hurrying 

to and fro. 
He spins wheels where his feet 
V . . can't go. 

Rearing back on two big wheels, 
Down the curb raurp his chair reels, 
He displays the confidence he 

feels , 
Overcoming one of his daily 


Young, handsome, his upper torso 
He rolls amidst the fast-paced 

To be out of step is considered 

Accept his offering and go along. 


C. J. Prusik 



She said. 

She said, "Be my friend." 
And I was! 

She said, "Come go with me." 
And I did! 

She said, "Make love to me." 
And there was bliss beyond com- 
And I asked, "Be mine." 
And I grasped thin air. 

God it's lonely 



Jerry Keir 

Kevin Duncan 



G«ntal tones 
sootliing textures . 
slowly ringing out 
within moments 
smooth ripples appear 
And I can almost see 
their long snowy necks 
glide with the movement, 

Jim Behling 


Crimson, carmen, and magenta 
Coral, rosy, pink, and dawn, 
Ssi'fron, cinnabar, and sunset, 
Alabaster, ashen, cream 
Lavendar, violet, a25ure dream, 

Kevin Duncan 


5o.ft grey ^osts crawl up my sleeve 
to peer into niy eyes 
while I within deny their threats 
and answer them with lies. 

Bent faces 

\-^- protruding, 
hip wise 
models strutted, 
and when it 
came time to 
they said 

Kevin Duncan 


If today, 

I follow death 

go down its trackless wastes, 

salt my tongue on hardened 

for my precious dear times waste 


along that promised cave in > 

Will you 

to moiim for 


Mushlike memories perform 

a ritual on my lips 

I lie in stolid hopelessness 

and they lay my soul in strips, 

Vi -V .Vi .V.iVi iTf ■ V I V 
n n A A T^ 71 A A 

Jerry Keir 


When we were little 
we would chase the shadows of airplanes 

it could be great fun still 
but it isn't 
because Sam almost caught the tail 

until he ran into the great oak. 
it could be great fun 

but it wouldn't be the same. 

Jerry Keir 


I wanted to dream about the 
day, so last ni^t, just before 
I went to sleep , I collected all 
of my shadows from the day and 
carefully folded them beneath my 
pillow. But when I woke up, 

there they were, hiding under 
the bed, behind a dirty sweat 
sock. They looked tired, I 
doubt if they got any sleep. 



A A A A /T A A A 


Shelbia Chandler 


I am a dreamer. They say I've got my 
head in the clouds. With stars in my 
eyes, I keep reaching for rainbows that 
folks like me can never grasp. They 
want to know when I am going to plant 
my feet firmly on the ground and stop 
walking on air. Dreams are just for 
sleepers , 

I am a romantic. In my fantasies I see 
my future lover. While ^e is tall, 
dark, and handsome, he loves me for my 
mind; my superior intelligence. K^ 
curvaceous "body and comely face are 
nice, but .unimportant. They want to 
krnw when I am going to wake up and 
face reality. Men like that are non- 

I am an enigma, Ity dreams aren't hard 
to understand, but only I can see 
them. The me I am and the me I want 
to be axe poles apart from the me 


that is expected. They want to 
know when I am going to grow up 
and realize that life is not a.:. 
paperback novel vdiere dreams cbme 
true and miracles do still happen. . 

I am a person of color. It is un- 
fortunate that I do not icnow this. 
Within my vajcrped. mind, I carry il- 
lusions of grandeur totally unfits 
ting to a person like me. They 
want to know when I am going to 
wake up and . smell the coffee. 
There is no such thing as a color-, 
less relationship. 

I am forever an optimist. I still b^ 
lieve in dreams and miracles. I 
never doubt that fantasy can become 
reality. 'My ideal world is a world 
filled with possibilities. Dreams 
are there for the making. Ho rsdn- ' 
bow is beyond my grasp ♦ 


jTidy Belfield 

Jerry Keir 



Delicately fingering 

fried chicken parts 

her pinkies saluting the celing • 

she nibbles flesh from bone 

her rings flashing in the light 

a sudden sparkle 

broadcasting an alert 

ej^uralong red fingernails and diamonds 

calling attention to 

fat round digits 

barely bending at the knuckles 

for all the extra meat 

Her puffed-out jowls chew 

o\y.r the second chin 

lying heavy on her chest 

twitching with mastication . . . 

I wonder 

if chickens need to die 

for this.. 

Over salad -^d shrimp - " -' > 

He innocently asks 

"How do you feel about dreams?" ^ 

Her face clouded 

distant distractions 

Mumbling . , , 

Ah, dreams are like err uhh, ,^ 

solidblackelectricthundercries often 

camagescreamsteamakedeyesbitesnakes u.ih 


madloveless \im 
butalwayserrahhli^t nesltle condensed 
ravenni^tdreamscomfortatlast yeah. 
Wiping a tear, she excuses herself 
a rainbow after the storm 
Consequently, he developed indigestion 
from the shrimp sauce;. 


Penny Sartori 


My most vivid recollection of Bill 
Greason is his underwear — the lar- 
gest pair of Fruit of the Looms I 
had ever seen! Several new "resi- 
dents" had arrived late I*riday 
after I had already .gone for the 
day, and so my first meeting with 
each of them was to be the 6:00 a.m, 
"•'^d check" on Saturday morning. I 


worked the day shift at the Joliet 
Community Correctional Center, a 
minimum security facility, more 
commonly known as a Work Release 
Center. My first priority every 
morning was to make sure each pri- 
soner, or resident as we called 
them, was present and/or accounted 
for. Bill Greason was to be our 


Efciware of Strangers Bearing Quiche, continued 

new "Permanent Party" cook, which meant 
that imlike other residents, he wo"uld not 
he getting a job outside the Center, but 
would instead be paid a very normal wage 
tw prepare meals for the other residents 
and the staff. 

I remember thinking out loud as I 
approached his room next to the kitchen, 
"It's Satuarday morning, 6:10 a.m., a cof- 
fee and doughnuts day, so what is that 
u_licious aroma calling me from the kit- 
chen?" Could it be we actually got a 
r^al cook this time? Could it be that 
we won't have to drag his butt out of 

■ pastries, that he would be pa- 
roled tlje day before her wedding, 
I could see the wheels turning in 
her head. It was her idea, not 
mine, but I vas the one who should 
have Icnown better. Bill made her 
an offer she couldn't refuse: $2,00/^ 
a plate to cater her wedding. 1^ 
friends and co-workers were all 
skeptical, but nqr instincts told 
me their concerns were tmnec- 
cessary. I had been manipulated and 
used by residents before, but I knew 
Bill was different. Ve had a chance 
to really help him get started. There 
would be about 300 guests at the wed- 
ding, and I felt sure Bill could est- 

"bed every morning and beg him to slap 

a few eggs on the grill? Still pre- 

o- cupied with thoughts of food, I ar- , , . , 

rived at his room, slipped the key into 5^?:'-??„!^,i'^P'^®f!''I!„f5P^J^,^f°?, 

the lock, and turned the knob. Prom 

the other side, the door was ripped 

out of my hand, and there stood this 

enormous pair of jockey shorts! 

"Damn!" a voice boomed from some- 
where far above the underwear. "Even 
the women around here don't have any 
manners!" Eventually my eyes reached 
tue voice. Bill Greason stood 6'i;" 
tall and weighed in at a modest 32^ 
poTinds , 

Immediately I knew he would be 
a match for my wit. I stepped back, 
closed the door, knocked, and purred, 
"i'Li?. Greason, this is your wake-up 
call," Ee gently opened the door, 
still wearing only the "Looms," grin- 
ned at me, and said, "You look like 
you would thorou^^y enjoy a piece of 
my quiche." 

I quipped, "You look like you've 
already enjoyed plenty of it!" 

Bed checks weren't finished until 
about 7:30 that morning. Bill had a 
J^.ne of bull as tall as he was, and I 
thoroughly enjoyed him. He was well 
e vacated, musically talented, did 
beautiful charcoal drawings, and his 
culinary expertise was a food-lover's 
delist! At that time, I was the on- 
ly female at the Center, and like so 
many residents, Bill was clearly 
starved for female attention. Unlike 
most, though, his clever, sophisticated 
approach netted results. 

Bill had been with us several 
months, and v^rd of his cooking 
skills had spread far and wide. State 
dignitaries made it a point to come for 
a tour of our facility at mealtime. 
The priest at the seminary, with whom 
we shared the building, hired Bill to 
ca-cer a banquet in their dining room. 
When Bill's six months as permanent 
party cook were completed, he was hired 
as a chef at a local cuuntry club. Ee 
began to make parole plans, which in- 
cluded starting his own catering busi- 
ness. Bill, of course, had no trouble 
convincing the Parole Board that he 
was3 ready and was granted parole in 
April, with an effective date of June 
V-, 1975. 

V/hen I mentioned to my sister, 
Terri, who by the way had tasted Bill's 

for himself. The three of us spent 
weeks planning the menu and order- 
ing food. 

Finally, June arrived. Bill 
had a three-day pass that week. He 
was due back Friday afternoon, would 
sign his parole papers, and be a 
free man the next day, ¥e had even 
gotten permission for liim to use 
the kitchen at the reception hall 
to prepare the 'food. I remember 
that Friday morning one of the case- 
workers said, "I have this uneasy 
feeling that I just can't explain. 
You haven't heard from Greason since 
he left, have you?" Why did I know 
exactly what he was going to say? 
Vniat was this sick feeling in the 
pit of my stomach? 

The technical term is 
absconded. It means Bill Greason 
never returned, and even though he 
was only iiours away from parole, he 
became an escapee. As feir as I 
know, he lias never been apprehended. 
There aren't any simple explanations. 
He had been paid $100.00, but that 
was not a lot of money to Bill 
Greason. The caseworkers theorized 
that he could not deal with tan- 
gible success or its inherent re- 
sponsibilities j or perhaps the fear 
of failure was the overwhelming 
force that made him run. He was 
the only absconder from our fa- 
cility that was never found, and 
it still amazes me that a man of 
his size could just seem to "fall 
off the face of the - earth." 

You're probably wondering 
about the wedding. To be sure, 
that was one of the longest and 
loneliest nights of my life. I 
just couldn't call my sister imtil 
I had come up with a possible solu- 
tion. Our parents had been opposed 




Beware of Strangers Bearing 


to the idea from the beginning, so I 
definitely i^rasn't ready to "break the 
news to them. "My husband was working 
ii-^inights, so it was just me and my 
tears. At btOO in the morning, I 
started calling caterers, and the 
second one agreed to help us out. 
(l think she was afrid I was going 
to do bodily harm to myself i) 

So, I guess "All's well that 
ends well." At age 26, I had never 
Ljen drunk, but after the wedding, 
I could never say that again. The 
change in me, however, went far be- ' - 

yond a few drinks. It went to my 
very heart and soul. Residents never 
again thought I was "sweet." I 
wasn't. I tried to be fair and do 
my job, but that's exactly what it 
had become — just a jod. I cared a 
lot less and lost much of my enthu- 
siasm for the job, but I deve- 
loped a tou^mess and a perception 
about people that I never had before. 
I guess it was a fair trade. 


Jerry Keir 

Kevin Duncan 



Here in nic eland 

where only shadows of trees 

offer cooling shade 


dreams tuff. 

B. P. Ross 

Red bricks 

and .old cobblers 

visit me 

in visions 

of old siding 

and new .bags 

and watches 

by Gucci 



W. A. Kahle 
When told the sky was darkness by enemy arrows. 
The king spoke, 

"At least we can fight in the shade." 
And the horsemen fell from the sky with their Luscious anticipation 
horses' hooves afire, a slice of hell 

leaving death and destruction in their wake can't get a lesson 
Then off into the sunset rode the four horsemen in standing in the li^ts 
and their minions .... or soaking up the cheers. 

"Weep not, for those of ub who have died here Bathing in the glow, 

spoke a ghosts 

"But cry for those who had not the chance 
to raise their sword to defend themself," 

And then it was over. 

One lone soldier stood on the open in wonder 

at what had happened before his eyes: 

"Be it an eternity," spoke he, "I shall not 

what this day has showed . . . 
though it happened years ago." 

fame is forever running 
from me. 
Noted notables 
strutting throto^^ the halls 
never look my way, 
couldn' t conjure a care 
or even an ugly stare. 
Last week's landed part 
blew a mind or two 
electrified the living world 
breathing inside my mind. 

■JHHHt M ^XK- 

Kevin Duncan 



like pearls 
Roll off your tongue 

to grace this eager ear. 

Doubt and fear, 

Ungainly things. 
With blushings 




Kevin Duncan 

Kevin iDuncan 


Thosfr jewels 

and wrinkled eyes 


to the low 

and lonely 

with lust 

of tiaras and roses 

and that half-cra6ked smile 

red cheeks 

strai^t teeth 

end bad breath! 

Jerry Keir 


O'^er dr^^gged 
under- financed 
unnecessarily negative 
needlessly suspicious 
"»n.olently limited 
saturated with survivalism 
r?>nk with random rage 
essentially instructive 
and once again 
cj:other year 
too damn short. 

Judy Belfield 


All things 

show signs of decay; 

T point out ugly 

not to elicit disgust 

or make you afraid 

but to let you know 

you cannot hide from what is. 

In the facets of jewels 

r: :d exquisite pain aches . . . 

I want you to see 

Lhat beauty without agony 

is incomplete 

just as flowers do not flourish 

without the annihilation 

of earth and insects 

and stars, too, survive 

beeause of other deaths. 

You and I endure, 

prevail over black dajrsj 

I share my darknesses 

hoping you will find the sunshine 

that nnich richer, 


DEC. 25, I98U 






















■>H^ ) H ( -*4HH(- 


Kevin Duncan 


Your skin 

like dawn 


like dusk. 


paints the beginning 

of a certain end. 

The other, 

the end 

of a sure beginning, 

'H K H H 7i W J* *v 

James Haskowski 


The October wind came howling 
throu^ the streets, at times even 
louder than the traffic moving 
down Western Avenue. You coiild 
almost see the vand rolling along 
the groiuid like a tumbleweed or 
spiraling in the air like a little 
twister, its bony hands encircling 
the buildings, and its icy fingers 
caressing the body of Thomas Baily, 
standing on the comer, 

A bus eventually came and Tom, 
v^o waited in this fsishion every 
weekday, stepped aboard. Knowing 
that seats were scarce . during 
rush hour, he didn't bother moving 
towards the rear, but held on to a 
rail, swaying back and forth as the 
bus lurked its way down the street. 


A Windy Erening, centinu«d 


A paranoid old lady eyed him suspi- 
ciously from an adjacent' seat. Tom 
hated the bus ride home—passing the 
same building every day, watching 
the streets change from ^l^th to 55th 
to 56th, Yet while the concrete 
and pavement lingered, years 
trickled away. Was it that long ago 
maxriage came and high school went? 
Yes, yes it was. Breams. Just mem- 
ories. Only eternity. 

The buB crawled to a halt. Tom 
squeezed through the flesh and out 
into the cold, and with hands in 
p-ckets, ran penguin-like across 
the street. 

Feeling a hot cup of coffee 
would listen his spirit, he entered 
a small, familiar cafe, and took 
his usual seat at the counter. 

"Hi, Tom," the girl said coming 
toward him. "What can I get for 

"Oh, just a coffee, Janice." 

"Comin* up," she said quickly. 

Tom nodded, watching her move 
p-r^y, Thou^ attractive in her own 
right, she was of little beauty, 
with sandy, pony-tailed hair and a 
sparsely freckled face that matched 
the stains on her apron. But not out 
Ox love or from lust, not even at 
her plainness did he st€u:e, for he 
viewed the world around him throu^ 
a cold, cold, smoky glass, letting 

"little in and little out. i^ot 
merely a coldness of heart, rather 
a coldness of mind which holds a , 
person suspended alone in the world, 
until the fire of existence is ever 
so slowly smothered to a dying ember. 
Years had passed, taking all feel- 
i/g with them; taking Jane with 
them , . , (excTiee me) ... it was 
a cold and windy evening . , , they 
had no children — 

"Excuse me, Tom." 

"Uh — oh, sorry. Thanks," Tom 
nr-abled, being jolted out of his 
reverie, A waitress put a cup and 
fec-acer down in front of him with 
a clank and he watched the little 
ripples in the coffee slowly ebb 
and vanish. Coming to his senses, 
h'; picked up the cup, drank, and 
let the caffeine warm hie insides. 

A boy stepped in, . followed 
immediately by a cold breeze vdiich 
blew throu^ Tom. Responding to 
the chill, he looked over his 
shoulder and saw a boy of small 
proportions enter, look around, 
and catch the watchful eye of 
Thomas Baily. He walked over 
and sat down at the ooxinter be- 
side Tom. 

"Hi!" said the boy in a voice 
a bit too cheerfjil for the place 
he had conie to. 

"Hello," said Tom flatly, no- 
ticing the boy wore a jacket a 
little too thin for October, It 
also looked as if he had been wear- 
ing it since Spring. His light com- 
plexion contrasted so great with 
his dark hair that it gave him a 
rather phantasmal appearance. 

Being alien to conrpani onship 
and feeling uneasy about a strange 
(and, of course, probably 
delinquent) boy sitting next to 
him, Tom conjured up some small 

"So, Kid," he said putting his 
coffee down. "How fax do you live 
from here? Never saw you around 
here before." 

The boy looked directly into 
his eyes for a second, then said, 
looking around the cafe, "Oh, I 
live pretty far from here. I'm 
, , . visiting a relative." ., 

"I see. How old are you?" '' ■ -'^ 

"Why are you asking me so man;y 
questions? It's none of your 
bus—" ,; .^ 

"Listen, Kid, you're the one'" ,. 
who came and sat next to me, Now~ 
I think you're scared and need 
someone to talk to , . . you're 
a runaway, arent you?" 

The, boy was silent. 

Tom's interest sparked. Nor- 
mally, he wouldn't have cared at 
all. He had more to think about 
than lost boys — the city was full 
of them. But there was something 
very different about him. His 
eyes perhaps? The way .he talked? 

"Well, in a way, I guess. I 
am . . ."he finally said, and then, 
changing the subject, "Did you 
grow up around here?" 

He thought, why would a kid. 
"be interested in me? He's got . 
to be a runaway; he's probably 

He stirred his coffee for no 
reason, "Yes, Kid, I grew up 
around here. Not even seven miles 
from here. And I've lived down tlae 
street ri^t here for more than 
thirteen years." 

"Doesn't it get boring? I 
mean, living in the same place 
for so long? I've been all over." 

He looked troubled, as if 
he said something he shouldn't 
have, some deep secret. 

"I'll bet you have. . . some- 
times, Boy, a man doesn't wish 
to leave the memories of a place. 
Men — especially older men — don't 

like things to change so they 
stay with the old, and with the 
memories, too. It's not even the 



A Windy Evening, continued 

place, really. It's the things we fill 
it with. I have a lot of memories . . , 
you probably don't know what I'm 
"bsbbling about — " 

The girl came to fill his 
coffee, and Tom felt guilty for drink- 
ing in front of him (he's probably 
F-^-Tjrvlng) . Tom turned to him and 
said, "How 'bout a sandwich or 
G-:i2ething— -on me,?" 

The waitress laughed, "No 
tliinks, I can't eat on the. job," 
And the waitress walked away laughing, 
«^d the boy be^n giggling. Though 
Tom saw nothing funny in her joke, 
^(=» smiled. He did see, however, that 
the boy was laughing at him. 

For a moment, Tom's loneliness 
had been put aside by a boy who re- 
minded him of the son he never had. 

What would his son have been 
like? Like this boy? 

^■fc. for now, he felt no sorrow 

place ain't so bad after all." 

"But it's so lonely," he said 
almost sadly. "It's so lonely." 

Ihe clock on the wall iiaci 
arrived at six-thirty and suddenly the 
boy looked disturbed. He looked at 
the clock for a few long seconds, ant 
said, "I have to go now . , . it's 
getting late and it's dark." 

Tom thou^t for a moment. He 
wanted very much to help. 

"Hey, Kid, if you don't ha-ve 
a place to stay, maybe you could — " 

"No. I have somewhere to go . . 
, maybe it's time for both of us to 
stop running. Maybe then we'll see 
each other . again." 

The boy stood up, put his jacket 
on, and walked towards the exit. He 
turned back, smiled sadly, and without 
looking back, walked out. Tom watcher 
him stop, look around, and turn left. 
The wind cau^t three leaves and a 

from the thought. 

iJust the short- sandwich bag and twirled them 

lived joy he had in talking to a lost 

"You know," Tom said, "if I had 
a son, I'd bet he'd of been a lot 
like you. He would have had dark 

around in the doorway. 

"Poor kid," he whispered and 
he felt as if the tragedy of losing 
a child had happened to him 
again. But this time, something 
brown . hair and brown eyes, probably-4ouched him in a strange way. He 
my wife did." cared for the boy. He felt as if 

The boy rubbed the back of his neck, a great burden had just been lift- 

"And you never had any kids?" 

"Well . . , she died , , , a 
long time ago , , , the infant, too . 
=. that baby was my first and my 
last. But we have to go on living 
irid, remember that. That much at 
least is true." 

But the boy said nothing — showed 
no feeling at all. He was staring 
rt the clock on the wall above the 
coffee pots. 

Tom v/ent on talking, "Funny how 
we just never kn©w about things , yet 
all we do everyday is run. But to 
wiiere? In that way, Kid, maybe we 
are alike. WE run, from the 
past and the future, too. You from 
well, from wherever. But I run from 
nowhere iljio nowhere, and I run every- 
day of my life. All of us, Boy, all 
of us, deep down Inside, are runners. 
Lut maybe it is better to run together 
than to run alone. Maybe you should 
think of that, Boy. Maybe your place 

ed from his soul. 

The waitress came to give him 
more coffee, and he had to ask her, 
"Have you ever seen that boy in 
here Tsefore?" 

"What boy is that, Tom?" . 

"Why," he laughed, "why the boy"^ 
who's been sitting here next to mo— 
you know, the scruffy-looking one," 

"I'm sorry, Tom, I must have 
missed him — it's been kind of busy." 

Tom looked around and saw two 
other customers in the cafe. 

"The boy — the boy! — he was here 
for almost a half hour, you couldn't 
possibly have missed — " 

She looked at him strangely, 
said, "I'm really quite busy," and 
walked away. 

Tom got up angrily to leave 
and put his hand on the chair next 
to him . . , and the chair was 
very cold. 

Kevin Duncan 


Uu a gloomy day 
next week — 

I'll live, 
and live, 

and wonder 
why I live on gloomy days! 




Tammi Vollmer 


You are the sim. 

I, the moon. 

I live off your light. 

]y^ lumination, 

depends on your glow. 

When your glow is bright, 

and yoiir reflection is of me, 

together we light the world, 

through the long days 

and sleepless nigjits. 

Shelbia Chandler 

Judy Belfield 


The full moon sits gloating in the sky 
SJying me with mockery, he illuininates 

- the earth 
and silently e^^s the lovers on. 
As he goads me, they walk in pairs 
to lovers' lanes and to beds, 

I walk alone. Slowly, for there 

is no hurry 
No one awaits me, - 
The one who loved me is gone, 
So I walk alone, lonely. 

They are everywhere, the lovers, 
in parked cars, taxis, and 
semi-hidden in dark doorways. 
The laughing moon spotlights a pair 
four arms, one "body, no beginning, 

no ending, 
I watch in envy, then seething, 
I turn away and curse the moon. 

Bob Cram 

Settings A lone park bench sits on stage. 
On it is an old man, seated and 
eating a sack- lunch. He is counting 


In glass, roseate flesh 
loses color, appears distorted — 
liquid stretching the symmetry 
of balanced features 
into grotesque exaggerations: 
a mouth gashed against a neckline, 
eyelids pulled down 
like slack window shades 
yellowed and cracked by sunli^t. 

I recognize the image 

by a trace of evil 

in its smile — 

a carefully-groomed secret 

perfume cannot totally transform 

into an acceptable boiiquetj 

I offer clues of decay 

with every word 

like the fair maiden 

dropping toads from her throat 

and yet, you drink in 

mostly nectar 

while my Dorian Gray portrait 

slides into putrescence. 

■)H IXX)(X? H^ 

Jerry Keir 


out and i^ at about 1,000,000. 

A short t:jne passes, 
old man enters. 

and a second 

Mr. Ayler 
I'iT. Lesser 

Ayler: 1,000,000, 1,000,001, 1,000,002 
Lesser: (takes out lunch) Say, I've 
been coming to eat my lunch here 

Between all the blurred activities 
and the passing peculiarities 

are instructions and responsibility 
by some intervening authority 

... so unsatisfactory 

my planetside obligations. 


Ayler: And I'm Arnold Ayler and 
Lesser: I'm Leopold Lesser, and very 


about a week and I've never seen you sorry I disturbed you. 

here; eating here before. 
Ayler: (continues coimting, flashes 

look of disgust to Lesser) 
Lesser: A nice park. Nice — would you 

like an apple? I've got some rai- 

Ayler: Disturbed. I don't know if 

I could get much more disturbed. - 
A man about to take his own life in. / 
Lesser: Your own life. You're gonna 
kill yoiirself? 

sins here you might be interest- Ayler: Yup, life has no more to 
ed in. They're a bit dry, but offer me. 
good. (Ayler is ignoring him. Lesser: But then, why were you 
He blurts out a continuous stream counting? 

of numbers to confuse his count- Ayler: Glad you asked that question. 
in,T:.) 6,G9i|, U, 67,590, 311+159265!;, (Perks up, begins to lecture) Let 
(Lessor's screaming disrupts Ayler' s 
Ayler: God damn it! You made me 
lose my place. 

Lesser: I'm sorry, but you were being 

very rude. 
Ayler: Me, ruJle? Who inteirupted 

my counting? 
Lesser: Well, I don't know. I'm 

sorry. If I upset you, I'm 

really sorry, 
Ayler: Yeah, I'm upset. 
Lesser: Well then, I'm sorry. 


me start from the beginning. 
When most people commit sui- 
cide, they either want to end 
their misery or get attention. 

3«t their name in the paper. 
Am I right? 

Lesser: I suppose. 

Ayler: See, the problem with dying 
is after you're gone, aiobody 
cares about you or xemembers. 

The second you go cold and 
hit the ground you are for- 
gotten. Doens't matter if you 


The Universe of Ayler and Lesser, continued 

are famous . Just more people to 
forget you. Can't win. See the 
problem After AEHOld Ayler 
dies, nobody is gonna give a 
damn. It's all gonna keep 
on going without me. 
Leasers I'll remember you. 

Aylers You're older thaii I am. 

You'll probably die , . . and 
anyways, if my plan works, you 
won't have to remember me. 
L;:>ssers I will anyways. What plan; 

Ayler; You see. If . . . 
Lesser? Eold on. Before I start 
seeing, coiiM you please tell 
me what all that counting was 

Ayler s I was getting there * 

Lesser; Could you get there a little 
omcker? First, you start ram- 
bling on about death, then you . . 

Ayler s Don't you see it all ties to- 
gether. If I keep coimting, I'll 
eventually get up to the 1,0 jO 
"million billions. And some- 
lurking in those huge 
numbers Is infinity. Sitting 
there just waiting to be count- 
ed to. And I'm the man to do 
it. I'll just be counting along, 
1,000 million billion one, 1,000 
million billion two, and I'll. 
go to say 1,000 million billion 
three, and I won't be able to. 
I'll part my lips to say it, 
and it v/on't be there. I will 
have reached infinity. And 
it'll just pop (popping noise) out* 
Of course, that was just a de- 
scription in layman's terms . . . 
How, I know it's gonna take a 
long time , but ... 

Lesser 3 You coiild count by twos. 

Ayler s You don't understand the con- 
cept. If I counted by twos and 
infinity was odd, I would miss 
it, wouldn't I? Don't you get 
It? Infinity is the end of the 
line. Nothing can come after it. 
So if I count to it, everything 
is gonna stop. Cause, if some- 
thing came after infinity, like 
someone walking, or running, or 
eating, or well . . . see, that 
would be like infinity plus one, 
and that can't ever happen. EVER! 

Lessers Everything- is gonna stop. 

Ayler s Yeah. 

Lessers Time. 

Ayler; Uh-huh. I 

Lessers Sporting events. 

Ayler s Even the Kentucky Derby, 

Lessers TV 

Ayler; The reruns will stop rerunning. 

Lesser: Will anything, happen? 

Ayler; Nothing. 

Lesser: Nothing? 

Ayler: Nothing. Not a thing. Fro- 
zen like a .pouch of Green 
Giant creamed spinach. 

Lessers Forever? 

Ayler; And ever. 

Lesser: But why do you want to stop 

Ayler: Cause I'm mad. Mad at the 

universe. /' 

Lessers As an integral part of the 
universe, I take offense at 
that. And anyi/ay, what did I, 
the universe ever do to you? 

Ayler; Nothing, I'm getting old. 

I'm betting too wrinkled, my y 
senses are failing. You'd 
think after oxi ordeal like this, 
you'd have some thing to look 
forward to. But no. You're 
old, you're gonna go not to 
heaven but to some oblivion. 
You'll be lost wallowing around 
in a mire of a million years 
worth of souls — if souls exist, 
I owe the universe nothing: 

Lesser; You owe me an orange seg- 
ment. How can you be so hos- 
tile' To the universe, I mean? 
You haven't seen the whole xmi- 
verse. You don't know if you 
don't like what you haven't 
seen, do you 

Ayler: I'll explain. You remem- 
ber when you were a kid, and 
you and some friends got to- 
gether and egged someone ' s 
house or something? 

Lesser; Yeah, 

Ayler; Now say someone founud out 
and cau^t you. Not all of 
your friends. Cause you were 
the only one they saw. They. 
tell your folks and they kili 
you. How do you feel ;' 

Lesser; Bad. 

Ayler-: Bad? 

Lesser: Not bad. j\ngxy, cause 
I took the blame. 

Ayler; And all yoTir guilty friends 
fot off scott-ftee. 

Lesser: And not even one of them, 
was named Scott. 

Ayler: You 'wish. You just v/ish 
one of them would take the 
blame with you. But no .one 
ever does. I feel like I'm 
taking the blame and dying, and 
everybody else, no matter how 
good or evil is gettinivi off 
unpunished and living. Why 
should I take the fall? 

Lesser: But when you egged the house 
you were the only one piuiished. 
JUverybody dies, every single 



The Universe of Ayler and Lesser, continued 

Ayler: . JIoxv do you know? Maybe after shoes out of them. Oxfords, \dxis- 
you die everything's jonna be dif- tips, sandals. Invented not only a 
ferent. Immortality, Shansrila, disease, but shoe-trees as well, the 
Eldorado, Mairriot's Great America. Dutch did. (Lesser is half listening 
I don't want to set cheated. When half staring blankly into space 
I go, everyone goes. Everything through the speech) It's interest- 
goes. (Sings) Goodness, anything ing to note that the I>utch also . . , 
goes. God is gonna do a double- Lessers 3ay, you don't mind if 
talce when I hit infinity. 'Cause I . . . 

that's the one flaw in the universe. 

And God's gonna say, "Damn that 
Ayler. I knew I shouldn't have 
made him so smart. How look 
what happened." They say you 
can't take it with you. But I'm 
gonna take it all with me. 
Lesser; I've been eating lunch here 
here about a week and I haven't 

seen you. 
Ayler; I used to sit by that tree 

over there. But they cut it down. 
Dutch Elm Disease. Clever people, 
those Dutch. When all those elms 
were dying, not only did they 
get the disease named after 
their country, but they put the 
dead trees to good u^e. Made up 

Judy Belfield 


My winter coat is threadbare 5 

years of wear have thinned it 

hair by hair — 

Q2.d leaves of a journal 

too lost in past pain 

to reread, remember. 

Aylers You what . . . 
Lesser: Help you coimt. That way 
we would both be screwin' 
up the universe. Like when you 
were a kid . . , 
Ayler: And you and some friends 
got together and egged some- 
one 's house. You take the odds. 

and I ' 11 take the evens . 
Lesser: Two 
Ayler: Three 
Lesser: Pive . . , Uh, I meai 

four, really. 

Jerry Keir 


Perhaps I'm a part 
or even the total . , . 
There is also the possibility 
that I'm only a fraction 
of it. 

I have a calculator now 

it all adds up 
I'm full of shit. 


^ old coat has no luster 

o— T.y "the unmistakable diine of age; 

its once-rich midnight color 

now tainted mauve, 

sunlight accentuating a fromer glory. 

One day, I shall freeze 
£>' 1 be thought ridiculous | 
my hands, desperately cold, 
clatching hopelessly 
to what remains. 

Jerry Keir 


While sitting at the edge of the lake 

T saw a small boat 

a strange silhouette is holding 

an umbrella 

It's not raining nor is it about to 

it isn't B^xnny either. 

After skippiix; a few rocks of wonderment 

I tiimed and v/alked away 

leaving the strange boat and fi.Tiire 

to sink sullen and deep 

in the ohannpls of iDemory. 

Kevin Duncan 


Trapped — 

. in a river 

with people 

banging pipes 

bridges in your path — 

you found 

your way home 

(just like Judy Garland) 


another visit — 

the press 

flocking over you; 

scientist wondering, 

I know — 

you're just like me. 



Judy Belfield 

Kevin Duncan 



In your .iau{;^ter 

a mix of mirth and reproach 

the ed^e, a potential assassin 

the body, jolly and round 

tickled by itself 

into a ijLg'S'li^o hysteria. 

I should caress your lau^ter 

in my arms 

^vl catch its effervescence 

were it not for the shairpness — 

the blade hidden 

in a soft belly of joy 

like a sadistic mu3?derer 

waiting in ambush 

no longer able to control his appetite 

by occasional bloodletting 

speeding up the intervals between 

in frenzied passion 

ajad yet, youx laughter is so ordinary 
CO unronarkable ... 

here is the horror. 

4HHt XKX) H(- 

V'. A. Kahle 


Firework displays 
the fourth of month seven 
vividly conveys 
a grandiose heaven. 
rT-sains set free 
or intensely captivated 
r"ke the small fee 
seem c^fossly under-rated. 
Blazin(3: spraks zing 
e2q)loding in the dark 
i'*ile passing they sing 
.shooting round the park. 
I love it! How I love it! 
to see the kiddies scream 
not a one can sit 
aa their faces beam. 

.... and as the humid ni^t dies 
0. holiday fizzles — 
(Please, don't ever end, I cry) 
'cause while it's here — it sizzles! 


Shelbia Chandler 

In summer, I enjoy standing in the rain 

P'^eling the clean, cold water 
Spraying over my body. 

In summer I'd like to be a tree 

Fi -^xing my roots under ground 

While blowing and swaying with thp -breeze* 

No one woxild find it strange 
If I rustled with pleasure 
As I stood in the rain. 


black trees 

with gold trim 


with bluish-pink umbrellas. 

Glaring smiles 

and bright teeth 

illuminated the sidewalks . . , 

of silver chocolate bars, 

and "I don't remember 

what else happened." 


¥. A. Kahle 


Standing on the terrace, 
her beautific face a bland stare 
as she searches with dead eyes 
for her "only love" to come home. 


while mounting huge stairs 

in a rich man's web — 



and lovelessness reigns . . . 

Cannes again — 

last month London 

booties of Dom Perignons 

...he's out again 
on business rounds 
tons of paperwork — 
like hell. 

She saw her leap into darkness 
leaving him satisfied 
creeping in Hie hedges — 

But somewhere 

in her wrenching 

loneliness , 

a smile squeezes 

to break onto her face. 

Formality is not merciful, 
nor the fraudulent kickings of a 

for renewed spirit, 
trying to break free of a choking 
paper-green . . . which now, 
withstanding the anguished 
brutal fight — 
topward — 

turns unfairly, 

to be a pyre 
for the upper 
upper crust: 

!Che Handsome — 
The Very Rich — 

■ xxxxxxxx 


Shelbia Chandler 

Jim Behlins 


Vlspy strealcB disappeax 

Into drifts of spaadcling diamond dust. 

Gusts run ^^ossamer tails 

Aloiic a sharp rid^je of crystal desert. 

F-Irlwinds posting into the air 

Leave smooth, sj.noous snow lines. 

¥, A. Eahle 


T: sling along 

a cracked, steel door 

he examined the etchings 

of beginnings and ends, 

beneath the crawling vines. 

There is no emotion 

n smiles, no tears, 

C'ist memories of fear .... 

a^ two dead eyes 

pierce throu^jh a haze. 

"While he stoically stands 

near the crypt 

^^■i th frontal view, 

regrets are nil 

"^"^ he turns, 

casually moving 

back down the hill 

where Mother, at last, 


Carrying carefully 

a dead, droppy rose, 

he finally releases the truth 


in a small-vo'ced whimper; 

. . . "Thank God." 

Shelbia Chandler 


Take my body if you want, 
Lwt lay off my mind. 
I think sex is fantastic 
!but let me stay blind. 

Don't open my eyes to the fact 

That there ^emore. 

J don't really mind 

If they call me a whore. 

I've already been hurt 
And I'm still afraid 
DoiK ' t malce me love 
J'-st to get laid, 

I Icnow it sounds crude 
But I don't really care. 
I don't wanna take chances, 


I first saw you in a crowded room 
And I wished that you were mine 
But you were already twenty 
And I was only nine. 

When I turned fifteen again we met 
I filled your ears with mush, 
I knew I was in love. 
But you said it was a crush 

At twenty again I saw youx face. 
My heart and knees gxew weak 
But keeping in mind years gone by, 
I didn't -dare to ' .speak. 

Two years later I saw you 

I practiced what I'd say. 

But before I could open my mouth. 

You'd gone another way. 

One more year and I cau^t your eye^ 
You finally noticed me 
And almost magically I found 
What I was sure could never be. 

But somehow it no longer mattered, 
Ity love J'or you had fled. 
Perhaps you weire right all along 
And love was only in my head, 

Jim Behling 


If you thought yourself 
A Georgia peach, 
Apple of their eye, 
A real plum, 
Sweet as a cherry, 
Of pear^-shaped tones 
Would you have painted 
Calico roses on a cattle's skull 

I don't wanna share. 

So just use my body 
Don't mess with my head 
Don't open my eyes 
Just take me to bed. 



¥. A. Kahle 

Shelbia Chandler 



If you try and you fail 

regenerate and resume — 

it's never to late to ask. 

A thousand mourning days 

of mistake-ridden promises 

can't suffocate the Fire 

that will come to your defense 


V/hen you ..wish you couldn't fall 

alter and unwind — 

it's never too late to change. 

Under papier mache feelings 

which can't pass judgment — 

they can be extinguished 


Yesterday's withered regrets 

3'"*=^llow and crumble — 

unable to last throu^ time. 

lii taking a minute to pause, 

to think, 

I+;«s past, it's over, 


Through the crowd I caught 

a glimpse of you 

But I swiftly walked on by 

Though I wondered why I didn't 

Or try to catch your eye. 

I thought it was strange that I 

didn't stare 
As before I've often done. 
Funny that I didn't care to share 
A look that would make us one. 

In my heart there was no feeling 
That's never happened before. 
It set my mind tc reeling 
Didn't I love you anymore? 

Then I sat down and did confess 
I^ youthful love did die. 
How sad that inner passiveness 
Didn't even allow me to cry. 



Jim Behling 

W, A. Kahle 



For thirty years in the War of the 

Lancaster and York each deposes, 
T^en, red and white become Q?udor 

A lovely way 
To think of bloody fray. 
If you're far enou^ away, 

•}H ( X X X K ) H(- 

Judy Belfield 


It's good 

T've fora'otten tomorrow? 
the day»s name is a memory 
of someiiiing sensedonce, 
'li:on{^t back 
in the mind only 
as a recreated sound 
or an imagined fragrance 
that tries to echo the original , , 
I am pulled backward 
c-id pushed forward 
like a child in a 
Lcndon Bridge cage of arms — 
lock me up- 
confused about directions 
of past and future: 
e'-ery step is both 
regress and progress 
entrance, exit, 
no logic — present, passed, 
on which to build walls 
and I would scream- £ .prayer 

Melancholy simaner nigjits 

boiling with fever — 

eviscerate the hardships 

towards tedious living — 

sending a glow, 

a radiant quiver 

too thrilling to explain. 

Frosted ivindowsills 

coated with chill — 

numbing loving fingers 

that draw up towards silky lips, 

, , . A flame sprung to life 
may bum furiously at first, 
but then, 

as time races — nearing its prey 
the heat is squelched . . . 
reminding an over-zealous soul 
about- one dusty love affair. 

■ xxxxxxxx 

to invisible gods 

if it would help, 

if it would 

reverse the parade 

back to then, when 

brass was gold 

and drums rolling in the belly 

were but one more thing 

•Uiat was magic. 



Shelbia Chandler 

Judy Belfield 


On a quiet and sticky summer ni(^t 

When sleep is elusive 

An une3Qpected "breeze 

Wafts across my sv;eat-danipened body 

Prodding me from my bed 

And I think of you, 

i.j3 I wander with no real purpose 

Throtkjh unlichted rooms 

And out the back door 

To settle with a weary th\amp 

on the top step!, 

I ^-aze at the moon 

iiixd ajain, I think of you, 

G-iancina" up at the sky 

I catch sii^t of a falling star 

Closing my eyes ti^tly 

I wish — not for you, 

If it for a nice, cold can of beer, 

Jim Behling 


Yuletide is a season. 

The mercenary reason. 

A bi3' exchange charade. 

Marketing nostalgia to increase trade 

Portraying in windows childhood tales 

To help make in a few weeks half a year' 

H'^re is the ploy: 
Put dovm your cash 
And buy comfort and joy. 
Still, one mi^t take a holiday 
iTom scrambling to make the hay, 
Realizing that lights, song, and tree 
're symbols that are money- free. 
For, every day of the year 
Cm be a time for good cheer. 


Checkerboard prison; 

you and I, 

iDlack and red 

confined by squares 

and rules about moves . . . - 

One day, I discovered ' 

principles of flight 

lifted myself higher and hi^ier 

above the game table, 

floated over books 

chairs, sofa, desk. 

From wall to wall 

I soared 

my sky seeming 

limitless, evemewj 

you smiled 

but would not try — 

I landed 

to reason, cajole, entice, 

shame, bully, rage, 

but you would not try, 

I will not fly again? 

infinity is empty 

without you. 

Kevin Duncan 


s When you come to me, unbidden. 
Beckoning me 

To long-ag-o rooms. 
Where memories lie, 

offering me, as to a child, 
an attic. 
Gathering of days too few. 

Baubles of stolen kisses. 
Trinkets of borrowed loves. 

Trunks of secret words, 

A A A A H R A A 


James Raskowski 



laui^iing, crying. 
Flexing fingers in the sunshine. 

Say bye, bye, 
to a plane up in the sky. 


Playing army. 
Lighting matches in the garden. 

wave EI! HI! 
to a plane up in the sky. 

Marines , 
Making beachheads. 

Lightning flashes thro\igh the jimgle, 

Shoot hi^, high, 
at .a plane up in the sky. 

Flaming stm-light 
burning shadows on their sidewalks. 

They cry, ciy, 
from a plane up in the sky. 

Leaders . 

Building missiles. 
Silver gods they fill with sunshine 

to fly, fly, 
on fl plan© up in the sky. 

Shelbia Chandler 

Donna Shibovich 



Since you've been gone, 

I^ bed has become a carnivorous 

I am bitten each night j 
F^ld between two white teeth 
That pass for sheets. 

I try to stay close to the ed^e, 
Hoping to avoid the danger zone 
Which falls just beyond the middle. 

Some nights I dream 

"^.at you are again beside me. 

As I try to nuzzle closer to you, 

A toe or perhaps an arm 

Ventures into that no-man's land, 

And I am rudely awakened, ' 

I struggle back to the rim of the bed 

Barely escaping the jaws of the tiger, 

Shelbia Chandler 


I went into mourning the day my 
parents were divorced. I knew my life 
as part of a secure family unit was 
over. My father went one way, my 
mother went another, and I went into 
the closet for my black dress. 

It wasn't that I didn't under- 
stand their parting. I knew they 
coTildn't live together, but I mourned 
my own peaceful life. Since I had 
friends with divorced parents, I was 
aware of the consequences. I'd learn- 
ed long ago that D-I-Y-O-E-C-E spell- 
ed good-by spouse, hellow rejects. 

It didn't take long for the fiirst 
pair to appear. Barely a month had 
T^assed when Walt dropped in^ he stay- 
ed for six. For a reject, he wasn't 
jad. His feet didn't smell, he didn't 
make rude noises, or guzzle beer. His 
one annoying habit was his attempts 
to play the role of my father. I tried 
to overlook this. I figured that since 
he had twelve kids of his own, he felt 
he had a patent on all children. 

^_ father's reject was a woman 
named Joyce. Since my father is 
black, I was surprised to find Joyce 
was white. That was no big thing, 
but Joyce was ugly to the hilt. She 
was pudgy, had greasy blonde hair, 
and crossed, watery blue eyes. Even 
worse, she was bitchy three weeks out 
of every inonth. When my father dumped 
her, she busted his car and house 
windows. After she put sugar in his 
gas tank, my father left town. He 

.couldn't take the pressure. 

Eventually, my mother found a 
new reject, or rather, he found her. 

Every day one finds me alone 

fishing iin the lake 

of my mind 

I catch some funny fishes 

the weirdest of their kind 
Some have no tails 
some even have wings 
They dance, they dive 
and one even sings 
There's vicious fishes 
suspicious fishes 
fishes of all ages 
Boring fishes 
snoring fishes 
fishes of all kinds 
Today was different— 
I had a mighty, mi^^ty catch 
but the fish was dead. 


Judy Belfield 


Hide somewhere 

in a dark comer 

so the shadows and yoiii? black 

eyes blendi 
even there 

I would see disappointment 
in the glistening of iris 
and know 

I cannot be rid of you. 
In the silences 

between heartbeats ' y 

the throb in my tCTrple stops 

and you .are assimilated 
more and more into myself 
until one day 

there will be no separating 
me from you 

like black eyes blended in shadow 
except for a pinpoint darkness, 


His name was Paul. He was an old 
childhood sweetheart. He was fine, 
\mtil he moved in. Life began to go 
downhill. Paul decided to let it ,. 
all hang but. That's when I knew 
he was a gross abomination. They 
fought all the time, while I watch- 
ed his belly grov^ steadily big^'er. 
He talked loud, snored, slurped his 
food, and farted profusely, thereby 
fumigating the entire room. It was 
the high point in n^r life when they 
broke up. 

Jtom bided her time, flitting 
around for awhile. Then, I came 
home and found Paul sitting at th3 
kitchen table. He grunted a greeting 
and sucked his teeth. I stalked 




r • ? .j^ction , continued 

p?,dt him and went to seaxch out my mo- 
ther. As r entered her room, she 
smiled aiid showed me her rinj. I 
knew then that my worries weire just 

be{jiiinin{5. Not only was she -1 
sleepin.j with rejects, but now she 
was about to marry one. I turned 
on my heel and 'atrain went into my 
closet to brin{j' out my mouminij 

A ■X"7l"A'7* "X^R 'J\ 

Shelbia Chandler 


T stood louQ when you left me 

Surrounded by the night, 

Tha stars watched in sympathy, 

the thin moon seemed to cry. 

I'nen I walked, my arm >*^'axound the 

spec : e 
0-^ you beside me. 

Tl.rou^ love-blinded eyes 

I saw only you. 

You became the path my feet chose to 

■^ou v/ere the lonely streetlamp, 
the dark, deserted night. 
You were every door, every window. 
The one solitary passing face was 


Because you were indelibly inked into 

my blood and brain, 

I needed no driiik or dru^^" 

For my senses to re^p-ster you all di- 


The world became beautiful, 

The ni^ht no lont^'er empty. 

The moon cre\j young and plump. 

The stars sparkled and gleamed. 

Echoing our love as the * night 

Lccame a tent, encompassing us 

Then I was home. 
Standing long and lonely in tkie 

As I sit on a train 

Moving slowly away from my roots. 

Seven years of you move through my 

Seven years of walking, laughing,' 

crying and loving 
travel with me. 
I sweat in the summer heat. 
1^ thighs stick to the leather seat. 
But I barely notice. 
What is this madness that drives 

me onward 
as to dome destined date. 

The sun lowers. 

As the train gains speed, 

I chainsmoke hoping to ease my 

and drive away the memories. 
As the train increases the distance 

between us, 
I close my eyes and move away from 

the window. 
Already there is a state between us. 
And many long montha-of alone. 

I ' watched the snow-shaped teardrops 
Fall desolately to the ground 
l^uming _the jspectre of you. 


V. A. Kahle 


biie said she could have screamed 

when she had this dream 

ttuout her sit tin' next to me, 

doesn't really matter 

I'm not mad at her 

at all — 

u-^ch , , , 

save for love match three 

at seven she's late 

I Would hate to ask 

A lie is somethlrv? T 

On love match four 

1 bou^^ht her a dozen roses 


they were pitched 


because she claims I know 

that they make her sneeze — 

I claim, "Oh, PLEASE!" 

, . . This one's the end 

the final fi^:;ht 

to retrain a brain 

which cancels xx>mances 

two weeks too 

old . . . 

ITTi H il' B" W W W 


James Raskowski 


I'm tired of "beins sane, 

I want to throw away my ■umbrella 

c.^d Qo dancing in the rain. 

I'm tired of being sane. 

I vant to scale a downtown skyscraper 

to jump on a passing plane. 

I want to swing from tree to tree 

like the moiikey inside mes 

I'm tired of being sane, 

I'm tired of being sane. 

Vant 2 sing h people on strEEtcomers 

Try 2 take away their pain 

i'm tired of BEing sain — 

i want 2 reach out and touch somel 

like U 
\Jhen i have NO- thing 2 gain 
i am EKRATiLY tired of BEing saine 
but all will BE fine 
wnen i am God EMPEROR 
and the moVESSE is mine he-he-hap-ha : 

Donna Shibovioh 


The past crashes 

into the present 

£aid every day 

of my lived life 

seems like 

only yesterday 

The present crashes 

into the future 

r:A all that's yet 

to happen 

seems like 

only tomorrow 

The present crashes 

into itself 

and for a moment 

there is no time. 

Jim Behling 


P"'.ctures and words sprawl across the 

Letting the logo tell it all. 
With pasted paper, paint, or ink 
I want to dictate what you think. 
To enlist your mind in my service, 
l.j message tries to make you nervous. 
Since most of what you learn is what 

you've seen, 
I concentrate on making the scene 

I write these signs because I fear 
Vlthout them I will disappear. 

Shelbia Chandler 


Since you've been away 

My tears come much easier. 

There's no tiling I want to do, 

No place I want to go 

So I sit alone by the window 

Lost in a reverie of you. 

Just like a small baby, 

I can't separate my ni^^ts from day. 

So I walk the floor til dawn 

Then I go to bed alone 

Dreaming dreams of you 

And wishing you'd come home. 

Darling, I've been missing you 
More than I ever thought I would 
And if there were any way to get you 

I'd find it if I could 
! My life is non-existent 
How that you'rie not in it 
My world is a busted wheel of 

And I can't even spin it. 
We shared a love 
That now is gone 
Leaving me to learn 
Life doesn't go on 

W. A. Kahle 


Sitting stiff -backed 

in a smoggy, stale 


drinking muddy 


she glances outward 

with swollen eyes, 

A contrite nurse 

scuffles prissily over 

to usher her in 

to see 

a doctor 

finally , . , 

after three hoiirs. 



but never like before, 

this frail body 

heads tearfully, sluggishly 

toward infinitely essential 


painted bluntly 

on beveled window: 

Reed c: Thompson, 
Attorneys at Law, 



W. A, Kalile 

Judy Belfield 



A wail 

in the iiisht 

wolce rae, 

Shootiii{^= up 

in a painful run 

to investii^ate 

too late. 

ATber dramas pathetic, 

too many 

it finally worl-ced 

fur her 

tV'3 time, 

A J >re {gathered, 

in shock 

the last time 

Mother read the final piece, 

r.-'iora'bilia a la morbid; 

"I'm soirry to all, 

t".-^ this was the only way . 



Shelbia Chandler 


A ra{jjed cut 

slowly drawn on flesh 

lips of skin parted 

into a ja^^^ed smile; 

you, etched on me 

like a deadly wound 

slowing me down for years 

until the j^ash grew together 

and formed a 'long thin scar 

which reminds me daily 

how delicately 

life balances between being and 
and not — 

yet how hale and persistent 

holding tenaciously 

in tlie face of rupture;; 

blood cells clotting with fero- 
cious speed 

new tissue not stopping to plot 

but growing feverishly 

over mortal rends. 

I carry you 

like a natural tattoo 

bleached of color 

stronger for its double growth — 

an extra layer 

knit by memory 

that never fades. 

Lately in life 
I've come to know 
That what seems to be 
Isn' t alwa^'-s so 

And what really is 
May not seem to be 
Both in the world 
Az-± inside of me. 

Laughter is shown 
In place of tears 
SI 'OWE of bravado 
Ifesk inner fears. 

Always some rationale 
Some way to right a vn:ong 
Ana oftentimes really 
Isn't very long 

People regret some deaths saying 
Tz-^x person had lots to give 
But then you hear it said 
Tli^t througli yoiir works you live, 

I just don't utiderstand it, 
But still I've comp to know 
That what seems to be 
Isn ' t always so . 

■){ "X K-X X ) HH<r 

Tammi Vollmer 


Starting over is never easy 

When ending's never end. 

Each day passes time avay 

but it doesn't help forget. 

Starting over is never easy 

when things were left unsaid, 

but each day passes time away. 

And the words become pointless. 

Starting over is never easy 

when you can't help but to remember 

when it all started. 

Kevin Duncan 



brass trvunpets 

and wise decisions 

with lies 

and cold hands 

blind my sense of truth 

-1 - 

Judy Belfield 

Doiina Shibovich 


I Ml A Bom 

Somidlessness — 
^'r>rds stacked like coins 
in a lij.dden room 
vaulted from view;; 
hoarded phrases 
jealously protected 
by ^aCTied sentries . . . 
/ bold thief 
litlie, e:cperienced 
from time to time 
steals near 

throu^ ni^t's shellac 
spies the treasure 
sputters a premature 
V3,ctory isigs^e 
but leamsj too late, 
the traps, the snares s 
oueth srippin^, 
his greedy desires 
holding him prisoner 
til his flesh rots to bone 
his screams the only intrusion 
on the silence 
L*-pt so dear. 

I am a bomb 
ticking softly 
hard to drop 
hard to hold 
ready to explode 
One more emotion 
one more memory 
crashed, smashed 
into countless others 
ticking softly 
deeply inward 

calm, cool, collective 
Hot much longer 
can I hide 
what's happening 
to me inside 
ticking softly 
The time is nearing 
the crashing, shattering 
spilling out, gushing forth 
ending as a me made of 
imperceptible fragments 
tickii:!^, ticking softly 
I am a bomb. 



Shelbia Chandler 

¥. A, Kahle 



Some people are best left alone, 

Init dreams die hard 

A;id I don't want to be alone. 

1 thought that if 1 did nothing, 
The problems would fade 
Or self-destruct on their own 
But problems only solve themselves 
In paperback novels and movies. 

Perhaps in another place, 

At some raore significant time. 

Things would be different, 

■^it there is little reason 

For clinging to dissolving dreams. 

A slap in the face 

carries no grace 

no matter how it's done. 

A hug or a kiss 

may hit or may miss 

in the art of love and war. 

I would give it all 

no matter if you fall 

but please, please — 

if we are to fight 

to see the light 

let's do it, let's start it, 

and get the damned thing over with. 

Doima Shibovich 


Sometimes an imperfection 

Makes a thing more interesting. 

But I can see that something is wrong. 

"^ere is small hope of returning 

To the romantic floating of the beginning. 

There are silent 
And it occurs to me 
That dreams or no dreams, 
I am alone 
We are all alone. 
There is no conrpany in the grave. 



and wonderful 

just before I go to sleep 
Moments of being 
in betv/een 
^nd my dreams 
Moments of peace 
Moments when, for awhile, 
everything seems 
all right . . , 


Jim Behlmc 

C, J. Prusik 


Oxchas^d. blossoms of s-priiiQ 

A luscioTis harvest brini^^ 

C? apples, peaxs, peaches, plums, 

Aprico t s , chearci es , 

MLxawbenrles, blackberries. 

Could you dine more eleg-antiy: 

A rose petal saMwich with your tea? 

Jim Bfthi i ng 


P. Lorrillard pays students to slide 
cigarettes under dorm room doors dur- 
ing finals. 

Restaurant owner hands out free sam- 
ples of Mogen David vrine at holiday 

Open-all-night convenience store 
in stress city offers Nitol et al. 
Gynecologist prescribes pills to pre- 
vent pregnancy. 

USDA price supports Kepone-dusted to- 
bacco crop, 

T'aily newspapers and monthly mags stay 
alive sponsoring one- thousand, five- 
hundred chemicals inhaled by the 
ixesh-air-loving Marlboro man. 
Your Good-Misic Station pauses to 
bring you a California wine ad while 
you are behind the wheel during rush 

Public transit busses let you read 
Viliile you rides Kools, Salems, Zings, 
Taiyton, No Smoking, 
Alka/-Seltzer when you've eaten too 
i^ich, helps you keep on eating (your 
own intestinal tract), 

Shelbia Chandler 


Ny tension mounts as Sister Rita 
stands, I know what is coming. Not 
only did she mention it yesterday, 
Vut she does this assignment each 
year. Perhaps if I think real liard, 
I can mentally push her thoughts in 
another direction. I close my eyes 
tightly and ( concnetrate. 

Dam, no go! I flinch when I 
' ar the squeak the maps make ao she 
pulls them down. First the U. S. map, 
x^o\j the world map. As she reachefl fox- 
her pointer, I quickly cross myself 
and xnake a fervant pra^ei* to Jesus, 
l^^ry^ and all the .Saints. 

"Havo nu=ix-ojf," I pTOy, "Tikis lo po 


You are a spirit dancing in seven 

And as I watch you from my bed of 

You walk the stormy seas of my mind 
Scattering the clouds with rays of 

bright light 
Dancing lightly ... 
You are the spirit of life , , ,' 
The breath of keen air ... 
Of mountains quiet places. 

Through misty visions 

I dream to touch you from my bed 

of nails 
And dream you give to me the heart 

of springtime. 
A bitter sweet wine , , , 
I taste of it . . . 

You are the spirit of life 

Dancing quietly gently in misty veils 

Throu^ 12^ mind . . ., .. 

Glhrough my life . , , 

Come love me , . , come love me . , , 

humiliating, I need a reprieve," 

I breathe a si^ of relief 
as Sister Clarissa's head appears 
at the door. Someone has probably 
died, and she wants me to sing for 
the funeral. She apologizes to Siste.. 
Rita and asks to see me in the hall. 
I leap to my feet and race to the door, 

"Remember, Shelbia, you're a' 
lady, not a horse," comes Sister 
Rita's voice from behind me. 

"Sorry, Sister," I mumble, slow- 
ing to a more sedate pace. 

"What's the hurry?" smiles Sis- 
ter Clarissa as I step into the hall- 
way. "No choir today. Songbird, I 
have a message from your mother." 

Shit, I thinlc as she tells me 
that I'm to take the bus home. I 
forgot my guardian angel. When 
she turns away to move down the hall, 
I make the sign of the cross again, 
and add a quick prayer before re- 
entering the room. 

No dice, tliey have already start- 
ed. I slide into my seat and fran- 
tically watch tlie clock. I think 
it's stopped. Just ten- thirty, 
and only four people to go: Eliza- 
beth Rjran, John Garciaj Stephen El- 
lis, and me. 

Lis stands and tells the class 
that she was bom in this city, 
but tliat both lier parents are from 
Ireland. She proudly points to Ire- 
land on tl:ie map and retixme to her 

Now, it's John Garcia' s turn. 
Re And Ftpi-T© flvnliantj'fi looks. Garcia 



Cultural Confusion, continued 

"I'm of Spanish descent, Sister." 
"Is that Spain or Mexico, John?" 
John opens his eyes and mouth v/ide 
as thoUiSh surprised. 

"Mexico, of couirse, Sister." 
"How maoy times must I tell you to 
"b: direct, John? If you don't say 
exactly what you mean, you fail to 

As Sister Rita turns to John Ellis 
John's lips move in imitation of hers, 
Steve chokes as he catches this from 
+■■"9 comer of his eye. Sister looks, 
"but she is too slow, John is the pic- 
ture of innocence as he waits for Steve 
to speak. 

"What is it you want me to do, 

"Must we so through this everyday? 
You know the assignment, why must you 

"But Sister ..." 
"Wliat is yoiir "family's national- 
ity and what country do you orii^inate 

"I was bom in Illinois and my mo- 
ther is French." 

"And your Father?" 
"I don't know. Sister. I for^^'ot 
to ask." 

Sister Rita si{3hed and rolled her 
eyes heavenward. I swallowed a lump of 
tears. I^^ tujm was coming-. It is so 
unfair. I'm the only black person in 
"Ll-i room. They know my nationality. 

The people around me smile know- 
ii-ki'ly and stare as I rise. In my 
trepidation, I hear a few ip.(^leB 
and titters, I pray that the f lo.or 
will open and swallow me, 

"Well, Shelbia, we're waitin^f, " 
comes Sister's voice. 

I look around the room. Seeing; 
the expectant faces, I am suddenly 
filled with pride. Thrustin{j my 
nose and chin^^ into the air ,__ I_ walk 
to the U. S. jiap. 

Pointing, I say, "I was bom in 

Joliet, Sister. Jty family and I 
are Americans." 

"We are all American, s Shelbia, 
Where does your family originate? 
What is your nationality?" 

, "Sister, with all due respect, 
I've answered your question. Ity 
parents, n^r grandpiarents , my sreat- 
- grandparents , .and even my c!^ea.x- 
, {jreat-grandparents , who were slaves 
in this country, knew no other home. 
You expect me to say Africa, be- 
pausie I'm black, but why should I? 
i could say that I'm part Cherokee 
Indian and l)e. perfectly accurate, 
but I don't consider it important. 
If others can come from Ireland 
and be Irish,' Franpe and be 
French, and Mexico and be Mexican, 
why can't I be bom in America and 
be an American?" 

The lunch bell rin^s. The 
others flee the classroom, a few 
smiling under standingly at me. Sis- 
ter Rita grabs my arm. When the 
a?oom IS -empty, she sits down. I 
am startled when she apologizes. 

"I'm sorry. I never thought 
this assignment would bother you. . ^ 
Ify purpose is for you -to learn the , 
maps, not to put you on the spot. 

In a way, you were right, but .;. 
some people are proud of their her-.. 

"I am proud of my heritage. 
Sister. While most of you can go ' 
back to other: countries and prove 
you originated from there, J, have 
no such proof. All blacks don't 
originate from Africa, As far back 
as I can go back in my ■ family his- 
tory, we've lived in tliis counirry. 
don't know where we lived before 
here, so in my dnind, I'm a pure 
American." '■: 

"Go and have your lunch," 
ansv/ered Sister Rita. "I see your 
point. I think I'll rework this 
assignment next year. " 


Kevin Duncan 

Tammi Yollmer 


Red socks 



ugly boots 


crop pants 







of love 


neon chairs 



new Tel atxcmsh ip . 

jffiVER MIHD . '^■" 

I'd like to wow you ;, :;; . ' ■ .',• 
with my smile, 
surprise you with my' laugh, 
surround you with my eyes , . , 

May I? ':.-■/•:■,. 
Nevermind. ;■ ,.;.;_ 

I shouldn't have to. ask,;;/ .■#■ ' 




.. -l:'.- Judy Belfi eld -- 

'' '■'_,/ " _\ " ' SOFT TOUCH -T\ 

From slick green tonjues . 

deceptions dance 

a waltz more accomplished 

than any Pred Astaire coiild teach, 

the music of larynx 

twrilintj its characters 

in (Sraceftil sweeps, 

sillcs gliding regally 

about sleek, experienced legs . . , 

One, two, tliree, 

an elegant tempo 

to rival Strauss 

hut with none of his integrity 

wliile I stand transfixed 

enchanted by the melody 

and the movement 

not suspecting subterfuge ,; "j 

until later 

when silence growls. '"- -^ 

Jim Behling 




Be a monomaniac 

\^:?o keeps his mind intact 

By pushing all the time. .. 

Ivieglect your social life, 

Then beg your wife 

To love you., ;, .j, 

During a lull in a campaign ' , 
Have your wife for champagne, 
While camped in bloody mud. 

If Europe is all, fixed r > 
And the army's to be deep-sixed, 

Take it to Moscow. 

In a vacated city made of wood 
Ifeke certain it is understood 
There is no fire department. 

To put an end to arms, ='■- 
Bum up all the farms 
And starve on your return. 

Mien tossed out af the country 
Have the effrontery 
To go right back. .; . 


Judy Belfield 


At axiy moment 

■•••he axe can fall 

Caarpe diem, 

the poets sang 

in a variety of luscious ways 

gTrab just one more apple, 

jfoung gladiator, 

tomorrow you die with your dreams 

like so many unopened 

birthday gifts 

■♦■•he ribbon and paper intact 

bou^'^^it for naught — 

OuLunbs down and you're out 

but at least you had a chance: 

the Caesars nmy have smiled or frowned 

aa easily one as the other 

not like now, when happenstance 

stretches out its fist 

with thumbs that only point ^^-^g way 

and the constant vi^^l lance 


of traffic cops 

make sure 

no one directs himself 

up the down staircase 

or in the out door; •• 

seise the day 

without eyes 

but only sinuous arms — 

■blie chant that reverberates 

in -the psychopath's subconscious 

spurs on activi^fcy 

\>rhich doesn't thiiiJc 

moves onward wi"tli incessant cadence 

from one -thrill to ano-tlier 

witliout regard for the backs he brealcs 

or -the necks that snap like "twigs 

encumbering "the pa^th to nowhere but 

f oinvard ; 
to stop is treacherous 
to reflect, madness, 
to question, to -tliink of release — 
sui cide. 

U3T CMMCE TBis smmTm 

to try out for 

""W" "W^ 


For OatstasidiKg GCTSI5^IS3M°°'^r'''°*"*°°°^ 




* P©®trf 

* Short Steries 

* Otli@r ProssWrii^ 


t^EGBBfll/llB m 

JJC'e Offioial Literarsr lfe^s,ls,© 

Su'Dmi,t all work t© Jate Stofeart to lOM 0«-1069 

By M,da3r ^- . Apfll IS, 1986 

CoTti- designs a©e@pttd for WOBBMfEE 56 
Mill ©ara some Imokj ga-tiet $10 for th@ 
froat cover s |10 for th@ baok, ij^ 
desi^s ?•* wid# by IS'* lois^> ¥ill b©